


With No Skin On

by LadyShadowphyre



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assorted Angels - Freeform, Derailing The Apocalypse For Love, Episode: s02e21 All Hell Breaks Loose, Episode: s02e22 All Hell Breaks Loose, M/M, Michael Is In Awe Of Sam, Other, SPN Rare Ships Creation Challenge, Sam Rather Likes Michael Too, Sam Winchester Has A Beautiful Soul
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 16:09:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12938880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyShadowphyre/pseuds/LadyShadowphyre
Summary: Most of the angels were watching what they could of the events in Cold Oak. Many were surprised when Sam overpowered Jake Talley but didn't follow through with the killing blow. When Jake stuck a blade in Sam's back and left him dying in Dean's arms, half the angels turned their focus on Dean and the other half on Jake, dismissing the abomination from concern while they waited for Dean to make a deal. And then Sam Winchester's Reaper escorted him into Heaven.





	With No Skin On

**M** OST OF THE angels were watching what they could of the events in Cold Oak, South Dakota, following the progression and passing of the "championship" among those psychic children whose gifts had been tainted by Azazel's blood in infancy. When Sam Winchester appeared in the Cauldron, many more angels sat up and took notice. They knew of the children born to John Winchester and Mary Campbell, uniting the lines as was foretold, and some few had even heard the prayers offered up by the younger, curious things that asked for the safety of his father and brother and the people they saved or the ones whom they were too late to save. Curious, some said. Lies and deceptions, other scoffed. Now, perhaps, they would have the truth of the matter as Sam inevitably gave in to the darkness tainting his blood.

Except that was not what happened. They watched curiously as Sam seemed to try and protect the other contestants, teaching them about salt lines to ward off the demon they could hear stalking the night, controlled by the girl Ava Wilson. Keeping them close to make them trust him so they would be easier to eliminate, it was speculated, except that did not seem to fit either. Sam seemed so honestly grieved at the deaths of the girl Lily Baker and the boy Andrew Gallagher, seemed horrified by Ava's treachery. Many were surprised as Sam clearly overpowered Jake Talley despite the latter's powers of super strength, but chalked it up to his life of training as a hunter, fighting to kill creatures much stronger than he was on a regular basis. Some even declared it proof that Sam was much deeper in his tainted powers than suspected. Those same angels were surprised again when the Winchester boy did not follow through with the killing blow, nor were they sure what to make of it when he turned away from Talley at Dean Winchester breaking through the ranks of demons guarding the town and calling his name, leaving his back exposed as he walked to meet his brother.

None were surprised that Talley was willing to deal the fatal blow to Sam as he had to Ava, makeshift blade going through the younger Winchester's spine and leaving him dying in the elder's arms while Talley ran off to become Azazel's hand to open the Hell Gate. Half the angels watched the Gate now, waiting for the moment it would break open and unleash the waiting army of Hell's legions to ravage the Earth. The other half watched Dean to see what he would do now without his abomination of a brother, whether he would step up and lead the Hunters against the demons, or if he was so deeply under the thrall of his brother's manipulations that he would damn himself to Hell to get him back.

And then Sam Winchester's Reaper escorted him into Heaven, and chaos erupted within the angelic ranks.

 

**M** ICHAEL, ARCHANGEL OF the Lord and Prince of Heaven, had of course noted the death of the younger Winchester with a pained sigh. He had been watching the brothers often, the pull of his strange connection with their father John making him frequently bear witness to moments of their lives. He knew the Winchester and Campbell lines had been joined, knew what that was to mean, and yet... he doubted. Father help him, but he doubted the rightness of this path as he watched the brothers grow and live and love and fight and forgive. It pained him to see such a replica of the way things had once been between himself and Lucifer, before Amara's curse upon her prison lock had twisted his brother into something he could scarcely recognize, and yet... and yet.

The younger brother leaving, being cast out of the family by John's hasty words and his own refusal to return should have broken the bond shared by the brothers. Michael watched as it thinned and strained but never broke, and then they were together again, the younger raw and hurting and filled with a terrifying grief and rage the likes of which Michael well remembered swelling within John at the loss of Mary. The bond grew thicker, stronger, never wavering even when John's dying words tried to impart the horrifying truth of his younger son's tainted blood and destiny for Evil's purposes to the older. He had lost track of them briefly after John's death, the connection he held with one-who-had-been-the-vessel-of-his-future-essence drawing his attention down towards Hell and the efforts made there to break him. Michael could have told them it would not work - John was already broken with Mary's death and could not be broken further - but no one bothered to ask him and so he held his doubts close. The one time he voiced those doubts, to Raphael alone lest the seraphs become alarmed at this sign of weakness from their Commander, he let his brother's assurances soothe his misgivings. This was right. This was just. The Vessels had been born, as foretold. The Time was at hand.

And so he watched as Sam was abducted, as he underwent the trial of Azazel's Cauldron, not nearly so surprised as the seraphs when the younger Winchester took no lives and shed no blood but his own. When Sam was killed by Jake, Michael turned his gaze away from Earth, his Grace heavy with the certainty of what was to come. He had watched the brothers closely enough, watched their bond closely enough, that in this there was no doubt. Dean Winchester would not allow Sam to die, even if it meant he damned himself to an eternity in Hell as his father had done for him. He did not want to watch as that came to pass.

And so he missed the initial flurry of dismay and excitement and activity. Raphael was elsewhere, tending to one of the few duties he still retained in the wake of Heaven's restructuring after Lucifer Fell and dragged so many of their younger brothers down with him, so Michael was alone when Puriel came to him.

"My lord Michael," the seraph began, then hesitated. Michael frowned slightly, wondering at the hesitation when the seraph was so clearly distressed enough to come directly to him, but made the necessary adjustments to his wing curvatures to assure the seraph that his audience was granted and he had Michael's attention if not his gaze.

"Speak, Puriel, and I will hear you," he prompted brusquely when the seraph still did not immediately report whatever concern had brought him. The seraph startled, Grace fluctuating briefly, but settled quickly.

"My lord Michael," he began again. "The boy with the demon blood, Sam Winchester... he has been killed."

"I have seen this," Michael acknowledged without expression, cloaking the flare of pain that echoed at the pronouncement. "Now we must watch Hell's movements as they secure the soul of the Righteous Man in payment for the return of his brother."

"Sir," Puriel started carefully, "I do not doubt your assessment will prove out, but... how are the demons to return the brother to life?"

"In the way of most such deals, I would imagine," Michael said dismissively. "It would be no great hardship to lift Samuel's soul out of perdition and return it to his body. He may not even be too badly damaged if the deal is struck quickly enough."

"But sir," Puriel protested, his Grace fluctuating again in agitation, "the boy with the demon blood is not  _ in _ Hell. His Reaper has just brought him through the Gates." Another fluctuation and a rustle of wings, and Puriel added, almost in fear, "He's  _ here _ , in Heaven."

Michael looked up.

 

**S** AM WINCHESTER WAS confused. He knew he was dead - you don't get stabbed in the back through the spine and watch the world fade to black on your brother's panicked face as you lie bleeding in his arms without it leaving a lasting impression - but somehow it didn't seem  _ real _ that he was dead. There was nothing around him as far as he could see. No floors, walls, ceilings, no horizons of any kind, just an endless expanse of white in every direction. He didn't know what he'd expected of his allotted afterlife, but it wasn't this blank, endless nothingness.

Moreover, his body felt strange, light and somehow disconnected like he wasn't entirely real. Not weightless, exactly, but somehow suspended, held by something he couldn't see or feel or touch and yet still kept him positioned in the center of nothing. He frowned slightly. Was this really the center? There weren't any physical boundaries to this place that he could perceive, but it would be kind of arrogant of him to assume the space he was occupying was the center. For all he knew, he could be off on one side, or upside down, or even hovering somewhere on the edge where the nothingness folded back onto itself like being inside a hypercube. He'd had a nightmare like that once, back in high school. The idea of being inside an endlessly folding and twisting multidimensional shape that changed and pulled you in ways the human body wasn't meant to move in had frightened him more than any of the things he and his father and brother hunted.

Maybe that was the point of this nothingness? Get his mind thinking and spiraling into all the different horrifying directions it could go so that whoever or whatever put him here could decide how to proceed, like some sort of cosmic waiting room for the newly deceased? Because if the idea was to get him good and terrified of what was coming, then he would have said it was working except for the part where even his burgeoning panic felt muted, disconnected. He tried to pinch himself, and found that he could perceive pressure to a degree, but there was no sharp spark of nerves firing, no bite to digging his nails into his palms... no pain.

Sam blinked, or tried to even though the white never changed, and ran that thought back. There was no pain from his nails, or from the pinch. There was no ache in his joints or soreness in his muscles, not even the tightness of hunger in his gut though he could remember feeling all those things before the biting pain and flood of numbness-- he'd been stabbed in the back just as Dean had found him, but even that pain was absent!

...Where was Dean?

The thought itself was not unusual. Sam had certainly wondered where his brother was many times over the years, the emotions fueling it ranging from annoyance if he was late to the bitter wistfulness that had edged his contemplations of Dean while he was at Stanford to the heart-stopping panic whenever he lost track of his brother in the middle of a fight. Given that his last memories of Dean involved bleeding out in his arms while Dean screamed, the heart-stopping panic should have been present, but it was just as absent as the pain. He was concerned. He wanted to know where his brother was and uncomfortable that he did not, but not actually upset by the absence, which was even more weird.

"Dean?" he called experimentally, and jerked in surprise. His voice was strange, too, bigger than he expected and louder without the echo of sound hitting walls and bouncing back. Resonant, he thought the word was. It was almost as freaky as the nothingness and the absence of Dean. Even more freaky, however, was when he got an answer.

"Your brother is not here, Sam," an equally resonant voice said. "Nor should you expect him to join us here. At least, not anytime soon."

Sam twisted around as best he could manage, looking wildly for the source of the voice in the vast emptiness. For one long, dizzying moment he couldn't even tell if he was moving more than just erratic flailing. Then the air around him seemed to change and shift, become heavier and drawn towards a single point to his left and a shape began to take form, unusually dark against the stark whiteness around them. Sam twisted around more, finally able to tell that he was indeed moving, as the figure condensed and coalesced into a male slightly shorter than he was with dark hair and-- Sam sucked in his breath.

"Dad?!"

 

**U** NDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, most individual Heavens were indistinguishable from one another, with occupied Heavens monitored but otherwise left alone so long as the souls stored within were not emitting distress. The unoccupied Heavens were largely ignored unless one was expected to be occupied shortly, whereupon a team was dispatched to ready the Heaven for the soul being brought in by whichever Reaper had been in the vicinity. Such was not the case for the section of Heaven reserved for Dean and Samuel Winchester. Because a great many angels had not believed that Sam would be brought to Heaven if he should fall within Azazel's Cauldron, and Dean was not scheduled to die until at least a year after Sam's death, if then, no one had seen to preparing their Heaven for occupation, leaving it the only blank Heaven currently housing a soul. A soul that appeared to be in mild distress, Michael noticed with something akin to chagrin as he approached and eased his way inside. Between Sam's natural propensity towards psychic gifts that Azazel's blood had merely influenced and the sheer emptiness of the Heaven currently housing his soul, the younger Winchester's distress was readily apparent, though Michael was not yet able to tell the cause.

The cause soon presented itself as he shifted himself the rest of the way into the space and heard Sam's projected call for his brother. In a way, it was to be expected, given the connection the brothers shared between their souls and the fact that Dean had been the last thing Sam had seen as he died. Michael spoke to Sam, then, hoping to ease the boy's distress with assurances that Dean was not dead and so would not be here. His words, kindly meant as they were, did not appear to ease Sam's distress in the slightest, and in fact seemed to increase the alarm being projected by the soul that Michael could not entirely focus on here in this vast space filled only with himself, Sam, and the Light of Heaven. He Felt it in his Grace when Sam focused on him enough to perceive him, however, but he was unprepared for the reaction his appearance received.

"Dad?!" Sam exclaimed, his soul sending up flares of alarm and dismay, followed strangely by an even stronger flare of fear amidst a sweep of resignation. "Figures... a whole lot of nothing followed by a confrontation with the source of ninety-six percent of my anxieties and insecurities, maybe followed up by Dean and all the other people I failed in my life.... Kind of more of a psychological torture than I expected from Hell...."

"You believe yourself to be in Hell?" Michael broke in, puzzled. His question drew a flare of startlement from Sam, followed by a narrow streak of suspicion.

"It seemed like a logical assumption to make," came the surprisingly calm response. "Especially after you showed up looking like a much younger ghost of John Winchester. Last I checked, Yellow-Eyes dragged him to Hell in exchange for Dean's life. But then, you're not John Winchester, so I have to wonder who you are and why you're wearing my Dad's face."

"Azazel," Michael corrected absently, turning this new facet of Sam Winchester over consideringly. Even as afraid as he was - and he was still very afraid - his mind was quick and precise.

"You're Azazel?" Sam's question broke him out of his reverie and he felt a deep flare of annoyance in his Grace.

"Of course not!" he snapped, Grace flaring. The fear ratcheted up and so Michael made a conscious effort to pull himself back in and modulate his tone to be less harsh. "No, Sam. Azazel is the name of the particular 'yellow-eyed demon' that your father has been obsessively hunting, and who arranged the blood tournament you were unwillingly drawn into."

"Particular... There's more of them?" Sam asked, shock and despair chasing each other through his soul.

"There are four demons of the rank distinguished by their yellow eyes. Azazel, Ramiel, Dagon, and Asmodeus are the four Princes of Hell. Only Azazel is currently active, however," Michael assured him.

Rather than be reassured, Sam's distress increased noticeably. "Azazel is a  _ Prince of Hell _ , and the only weapon that can possibly kill him is in  _ his hands _ and  _ Dean _ is still in his sights?!"

"Not at all," Michael said, Grace shifting in discomfort. "Azazel will be perfectly willing to ignore your brother so long as he ignores Azazel...."

"Yeah, that's not happening," Sam scoffed. "Dean isn't the kind of person to back down from saving innocent people, and the... Azazel... he was making it pretty clear that unleashing literal Hell on Earth was the plan for whoever won his  _ Hunger Games _ ." While Michael was trying to puzzle out what games about being hungry had to do with Azazel's blood tournament, Sam's soul pulsed with sadness. "I guess that will be Jake.... damn it."

"You are upset?" Michael asked curiously, feeling a brief pulse of alarm. Was his estimation of Sam off? Did the younger Winchester wish to be Azazel's General after all?

"Jake's a soldier, and I know he killed Ava in self-defence, but he's not a bad guy," Sam answered, subdued, and Michael felt a wash of relief sweep through him so strong that he almost missed the boy's next words. "He tried to help protect Andy and Lily... He didn't want to kill Ava, and I don't think he really wanted to kill me... I thought if I knocked him out, just kept him from killing again long enough for Dean to find us, then maybe we could have gotten both of us out of there without anyone else dying."

"You wanted to save him," Michael said thoughtfully. "Even though you knew that Azazel intended for only one of you to live."

"That's what Dad raised us to do. Save people," Sam answered with a pulse of sadness that Michael was unsure of how to interpret. "You're wearing him, you should know that."

"I am not actually 'wearing' your father," Michael corrected him gently. "You are perceiving me with his form because at some point soon I will have taken him as a Vessel."

"Oh," Sam responded, sounding nonplussed. A moment later, the confusion swirled up more strongly. "Wait, 'at some point soon you will have taken him'...? As in you haven't yet, but for him it already happened?"

"That is correct," Michael confirmed, surprised and pleased at this apparent understanding of temporal differentials from the human before him.

"I see," Sam said, and Michael thought that it was very likely that Sam could indeed see what he meant. "So, if you're not Dad or wearing Dad, and you're not Azazel... Who are you? And where am I if I'm not in Hell?"

"You are currently in Heaven," Michael answered simply, bracing himself for whatever flare of emotion might occur in Sam at his words. "And I am Michael."

"Michael," Sam repeated blankly, shock and disbelief pulsing through the space his soul occupied. "The Archangel. The Prince of Heaven."

"Yes," Michael said, and waited. There was a swirl of new emotions, a cycle of shock and dismay and awe and disbelief and fear and more shock, and then the pulsing emotions settled on... resignation. Before Michael could even process the full extent of the flood, Sam asked something that sent Michael's own emotions reeling.

"Are you here to kick me out?"

 

**I** F SAM WERE in a slightly less caustic state of mind, he might have been better able to appreciate the completely poleaxed expression on what looked like John Winchester's face at his question. He couldn't even say how long the expression lasted before it was replaced by an expression Sam was more familiar with seeing on his father's features, even if it only appeared once a year when John had been several shots of whiskey into Mary Winchester's memorial bottle: agonizing grief.

"You believe yourself to be unworthy of salvation," the being calling himself Michael said quietly in John Winchester's voice. "Even with your faith in my Father, with your prayers for the souls of those you could not have saved and your compassion and care for the ones whom you have, even with your belief in a force of good to balance the evil in the world, you now doubt that you are worthy to be saved as well?"

"Why would I be?" Sam asked helplessly, the words pouring out from him in a burst of honesty that very nearly felt compelled. "I've lied, stolen, killed more than my fair share of things... I died in a ghost town surrounded by demons the day after Azazel tells me in my sleep that he fed me his blood when I was a baby and that's what gave me these powers, that it really is my fault Mom's dead just like Dad ranted all those times he was too drunk to stop himself from saying it to my face, and you show up looking like the ghost of John Winchester's past while I'm stuck in this, what, celestial waiting room? If you're really the Archangel Michael, why else would you bother with me unless it was to shuffle me back down to where I should have gone in the first place?"

"And yet, here you are," Michael pointed out, hands spreading to indicate the blank whiteness around them. "And this is not a 'celestial waiting room', as you say. This is the personal Heaven allotted to you and your brother upon the end of your lifespan, the base Light of Heaven awaiting structure and imprinting." One eyebrow quirked up a little pointedly. "I apologize for the unprepared state of your intended resting place, but your arrival was somewhat unexpected."

"Sorry," Sam said reflexively, then winced as Michael blinked at him. "I mean... it's, um, fine? Very... soothing?"

"You do not find it so," Michael pointed out. "Your distress was obvious even before I entered your Heaven. You are distressed even now, though you are attempting to hide it. Why do you still not believe that you are meant to be here?"

"Forgive me if I find it hard to believe in my welcome into Heaven when a day ago a Prince of Hell was rooting for me to lead his demon army," Sam muttered, looking away from the sudden frown on John's - Michael's - face. "Especially when you're wearing that face."

"My appearing to you as John Winchester bothers you so very much?" Michael asked hesitantly after a moment of silence. Sam swallowed back the hysteria he could feel building and shrugged awkwardly.

"It's not exactly the face I would have ever expected to see welcoming me to  _ Heaven _ ," he said carefully.

"So you have indicated," Michael said. His frown was pensive now. "Ninety-six percent of your anxieties and insecurities, I believe you said. Hmm...."

Sam opened his mouth to ask what the Archangel was thinking, but stilled as he felt something shift in front of him. The feeling grew and then somehow pulled inwards toward the Archangel just as the image of John Winchester rippled and melted away. In place of Sam's father, now he could see - perceive? - a man who could easily have been John Winchester's cousin if his father had ever had any living family.

Potential familial connections was the last thing Sam was thinking about as he stared at this new face before him. The man was narrow in his face with high cheekbones and an angular jaw, and his black hair was longer than John ever kept his, though, and curled delicately around his face and ears and neck. He was dressed in what looked like period Ancient Greek sandals and a red tunic beneath rough-beaten leather armor that set off his olive skin and did nothing to conceal the well-muscled athletic build or the vivid scars mapping the tale of a hard life of fighting and survival.

Sam swallowed and snapped his eyes back up to the man's face hastily. Almost by accident, he met the man's steel-gray eyes and sucked in a sharp breath. The color may have been different, but the look in those eyes was the same fathomless well of ancient knowledge and carefully restrained power that he had never once seen in the eyes of John Winchester until he had come here. "Michael...?"

"I am still Michael, yes," the man said, and Sam shivered slightly. Even the voice was different, smoother and more rolling with the lilt of a tongue that was unused to speaking in English. "This form is that of Gaius Caelius, once a member of the Roman Imperial Guard and the man who was my Vessel the last time I walked the Earth nearly two thousand years before your birth. It is, I hope, a form well removed from any negative associations you might have."

"Y-yeah, it's... yeah," Sam managed, a bit lamely. When Michael began to look concerned, Sam added quickly, "Really, there's nothing negative about it! Looks, um... looks good on you."

"Thank you," Michael said after a moment of hesitation, the tone just slightly questioning as if the Archangel was not entirely sure that thanks was the correct response. Sam just nodded shortly, trying not to stare too obviously while also trying not to act like he was avoiding looking at Michael. The silence stretched between them for a long moment until Michael shifted, glancing around at the empty whiteness surrounding them. "Perhaps I might help to further alleviate your discomfort by assisting you in the base construction of the foundation for your Heaven?"

"I... if you want to?" Sam said uncertainly. He was finding himself having a difficult time remembering that Michael was essentially the ruler of Heaven and was probably way too busy to even be here for as long as he had been, never mind offering to stay even longer. "I mean... you don't have to.... There must be something more important that requires your attention more than one randomly misfiled human in an empty bit of Heaven...."

"I really don't," Michael said when Sam trailed off. Sam's skepticism must have shown because the Archangel added, "Really, for the last several centuries much of my duties in Heaven are administrative. Ah... I believe you would liken it to a desk full of paperwork?"

"So you're here with me as an excuse to play hooky?" Sam asked, feeling a mix of understanding and disappointment. It certainly made more sense than the idea that he was somehow important enough to rate an Archangel's personal attention, at least.

"Not exactly," Michael disagreed, surprising Sam. "While I do find myself grateful for a reason to delay attending to those incredibly tedious yet oh so necessary administrative duties--" Sam tried unsuccessfully to smother a laugh at the unexpected show of sarcasm and Michael smiled faintly at him. "--unless the duties I was attending to were directly related to the eminent march of Hell's forces upon Heaven's Gates, I still would have come to you the moment I was made aware of your presence here."

"But... why?" Sam couldn't help but ask, puzzled. "I mean, I totally get prioritizing a potential attack over everything else, especially when you're the one in charge, but... you're the one in charge, and I'm just a human...." He ducked his head and mumbled. "...a demon-tainted human...."

"Has my new appearance to your perception caused you to forget whose face you first perceived on me?" Michael asked, more gently than Sam was expecting. Sam blinked, then flushed. He  _ had _ almost forgotten that Michael had showed up looking like the ghost of John Winchester's past self. Before he could start to ask any of the questions that were rising in him at the reminder - notably  _ why _ the Archangel appeared to have such a personal interest in his family - Michael added dryly, "It might be best to have this conversation after I have guided you through setting the foundations of your Heaven, and yes, I will explain why once you have done so, as well as answer as many of your questions for which I have answers as you may choose to ask at that time."

"Right," Sam agreed sheepishly. He looked around at the empty expanse of white, searching for a place to begin "setting the foundations". When his surroundings proved completely devoid of anything except for him and Michael, he turned back to the patiently waiting Archangel. "What do I have to do?"

 

**M** ICHAEL PREFERED HONESTY whenever possible, in particular when it came to himself, no matter how uncomfortable that honesty might be. As such, he was able to admit that part of his eagerness to begin setting the foundations of the Winchester brothers' Heaven was entirely selfish. Surrounded as they were by the unbroken Light of Heaven which appeared to be completely drowning the soul before him, Michael was having to rely almost entirely on the pulses of projected emotion and thought to perceive Sam in a way which would allow them to interact. Tiny wisps of color flickered strongly enough now and again to push beyond the Light and give Michael a sense of where Sam's soul was hovering, but that was all too brief and he found it unaccountably frustrating. Truly Sam, with his more limited scope of perception confined to the resonances of Michael's Grace which were imprinted with his previous Vessel, was having a much easier time with their interaction.

He also acknowledged that his more selfish motivations would not help to set Sam at ease here. The boy already doubted his placement in Heaven despite being here, and to be told that his soul was too dim against the Light of Heaven to properly perceive would likely have convinced him further that he should not be here. Therefore, when Sam asked what he needed to do, Michael replied, "Choose a memory where you were happy, safe and content, and concentrate on that memory. Make it as real as you can, every bit of sensory input attached to that memory you can recall. Once you have it, reach out with your mind and feel the firmament of your Heaven, and press that happy memory into it."

"Think happy thoughts and fly, Wendy," Sam said, though his tone was distracted enough that Michael refrained from asking him to explain the reference. "Here goes...."

And go it did, Michael noticed with interest. It had been a long time since he had seen a human's personal Heaven be Seeded, and he found himself watching the progression of form and color and space taking root in the firmament and spreading outwards from the central point where Sam's soul was hovering, racing past where Michael had compressed himself down and taking shape. Michael forced himself to shift his perception just enough to perceive the space on a human level and saw huge trees rising up from moss around a stone ring in which a fire burned amber, casting high shadows across the trees and the two canvas tents beyond.

"It's a wilderness survival training exercise, technically," Sam's voice spoke up from off to one side, no longer quite so resonant with the space of his Heaven being filled. "About as close to a family camping trip as Dad was ever going to get, but me and Dean counted it. He and Dad would be sleeping in the tents while I sat out here, close enough to get them if I needed or for Dean to come out and find me if he wanted, but for right here and now it's just me... well, and you, too, I guess."

"You chose your memory based on being alone?" Michael asked uncertainly, still looking around. It felt almost like being back in a real Vessel to be standing here, and it was both strange and humbling to be reminded of the magnitude of his Father's Creation now, when he was used to being so much larger than any of it.

"Not alone," Sam disagreed. "Dean's right there in the tent. I mean, I know it's not really Dean, just my memory of him, but that's the point, right? Concentrate on the happy memory, make it real, plant it and let it grow to be the base? And if Dean and I really do share our Heaven, well, this is his space, too, so it's only right he's got a spot reserved...."

"I see," Michael replied softly, and turned to look at Sam once more, intending to prompt the boy to ask his questions now that the foundations were set.

The words he had intended to say fled his mind unspoken, however, when he focused on Sam. Vaguely, Michael could perceive Sam's body, the projection of himself at his current age rather than whatever age he had been when this memory was first formed. What commanded Michael's attention however, was the light of Sam's soul, shining radiantly, blindingly white against the backdrop of the imprint on Heaven's firmament. Michael felt his Grace tremble and convulse as he realized that the Light of Heaven had not been drowning out Sam's soul as he had assumed, but that the soul of the boy before him was in fact as pure and bright as the Light to the point where one was nearly indistinguishable from the other until perceived separately.

It was an epiphany that Michael found made him understand the human turn of phrase "staggering realization", and he was not at all certain that he liked it.

"Are, uh, are you okay?"

Michael's Grace quivered and flexed as he refocused his attention. He had not stopped looking at Sam, or rather at Sam's soul, but now he forced himself to pay more attention to the human's self-projection, to take in and interpret the "visual" cues as matched to the flares of emotion that Sam was still sending up. Worried, Michael realized, but the worry was layered and the question implied a concern  _ for Michael _ that was unexpected and startlingly genuine. Michael felt his Grace pulse once in mortifying interest and gave a quick, heartfelt thanks to his absent Father that none of his siblings were witness to his failing composure.

"I am.... 'Okay' is not the word I would choose to describe my current state," Michael said, reshuffling his wings. "I believe I promised you an explanation..."

"Oh! You don't have to," Sam offered, gesturing around them at the fire-lit clearing. "I mean, it's not like I can't guess now why you were so insistent."

"Can you?" Michael asked, interested. Sam ducked his head in a move Michael thought might have been bashfulness.

"Well, I mean, I think so?" Sam said, looking up through the fall of his hair towards Michael. At the Archangel's encouraging nod, he said carefully, "This place is really susceptible to impressions and emotions, isn't it? It picks up on a person's desires and feelings, so in a prepared space where the base is already set it would draw from the person's emotions to make it better and more real-seeming. With everything blank, it was just going to be picking up my emotions and feeding them into the blankness which would have created a feedback loop of everything I was feeling... uh, anxiety and loneliness... but because this is Heaven it would still try to reach for the good memories even though the base emotional feedback wasn't good. I mean, I felt how quickly it latched onto the memory I fed it...."

"A testament to the strength of your psychic abilities," Michael noted as Sam trailed off. The flare of anxiety and shame followed closely by an expression on Sam's face which could best be described as stricken had Michael adding hastily, "Your abilities are not inherently evil, Sam. Azazel's blood activated them on a pre-determined schedule and in some ways hobbled them, but they are still entirely your abilities inherited through your mother's line."

"Oh," Sam said, startled. He hesitated, apparently thinking over this information, then asked, "Does that make a difference here? My psychic abilities?"

"It does," Michael nodded. "You were entirely correct in your supposition of how the fabric of Heaven works with the souls which reside within it, save for the part where your psychic abilities cause you to... hm, project those emotions more strongly, leaving deeper impressions in the firmament."

"So, if I hadn't given the firmament something to latch onto, it would have started pulling up all of my good memories where I was still unhappy or lonely or missing Dean?" Sam asked. "Would it have changed once Dean got here?"

"Perhaps, in some ways," Michael said considering the question with due seriousness. "The firmament would, of course, draw from his memories and emotions to create a suitable place for him to regain some equilibrium before he would inevitably seek you out as soulmates do--"

"Wait, soulmates?" Sam interrupted, looking shocked. Michael tilted his head at him, and Sam's face turned a delicate shade of red as a rush of embarrassment flared. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you, I just... what do you mean Dean and I are soulmates?"

"Two souls bound together so as to be inseparable, even in death," Michael explained. A bit of amusement colored his voice as he added, "These bonds are not necessarily romantic, Sam, though your bond with Dean is unique in how it came about."

"What's different about it?" Sam asked, his projected body leaning forward even as his soul flared bright with curiosity, nearly distracting Michael from the question entirely. "I mean, besides the non-romantic part."

"Most soulmate bonds are the work of cupids, a subset group of the cherubim which is one of the lower orders of the angelic hierarchy," Michael found himself explaining. Sensing the increase in interest from his present charge (and when did he start thinking of Sam as his?) Michael settled himself more comfortably into the space across from Sam and folded the majority of his wings. "The cupids are tasked with ensuring that such bonds form between individuals whose union is beneficial to the cause of Heaven. Sometimes that is as simple as ensuring the continuation of particularly strong bloodlines, while other times it may be to ensure that certain children will be born in order to fulfill a need somewhere in the world when the existence of those children - or the adults they grow to be - means the tipping point in the balances and the fulfillment of Prophecy. Many angelic vessels are born from such matches, as certain bloodlines are better prepared to handle the power surge of hosting an angel's Grace, even more so those of specialized bloodlines who can support an Archangel such as myself or Raphael."

"Like Dad," Sam said, soul pulsing with the realization, and Michael froze before the sudden sharpening of focus and attention being directed towards him. "Specialized bloodlines able to be vessels to an Archangel, and Dad's already been your vessel once even if you haven't done it yet... Dad's family is from your specialized bloodline." Before Michael could manage to recover his equilibrium from this astonishing display of intelligence from an already formidable soul, Sam's expression became troubled. "What does that mean for Dean? If the Winchesters are your bloodline for vessels and he's the last Winchester left...."

"It is... problematic," Michael admitted, two sets of wings lowering in discontent. "You need not worry that I would ever take him as a vessel by force, nor would I seek to coerce his consent, but it has been laid out that unless some element changes drastically, my current bloodline will die with your brother."

" _ Will _ you ever take him?" Sam asked, frowning. Michael lifted his wings and lowered them in the approximation of a human shrug, hoping the action would translate through his projected vessel.

"I do not know," he said. "Raphael believes so, but since the future is always changing there is no certainty to such a belief. As well, his surety of such a course depends heavily on circumstances I have recently come to see as unlikely if not impossible."

"How so?" Sam asked. "Er, if you don't mind me asking...."

"Your presence in Heaven is actually a large indicator that those circumstances are unlikely to come about," Michael offered. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Sam, I owe you an apology. Up until moments ago, I could not have explained how or why you are meant to be in Heaven beyond the undeniable fact that you are here. When you seeded the firmament of your Heaven, it provided the necessary contrast between your soul and the Light of Heaven for me to perceive it clearly for the first time."

"That bad?" Sam asked, looking unhappy. Michael's wings bristled sharply in irritation and anger at how Sam had been so clearly conditioned to think poorly of himself.

"No, Samuel," Michael said gravely. "That  _ good _ . Unfettered by Azazel's blood within your physical body, your soul shines as brightly as the Light of Heaven. Even now, with my efforts to perceive you as you are perceiving me, with the physical form you are more used to having, it is difficult to look upon you for the blinding brilliance of your soul. It is... exquisite." He found himself reaching forward with his wings, tilting them open to expose the undersides even as he angled the tips forwards, stopping just short of touching the outermost coronas of Sam's soul with his wingtips. "A soul as pure as yours could never be destined for anywhere but Heaven."

 

**S** AM HAD NO idea how he was meant to handle this. His being in Heaven was enough of a shock to the system, or would have been if he'd had a system to shock. That he was talking with an angel - and not just any angel but an  _ Archangel _ who was the  _ Prince of Heaven _ \- and being given insight into the workings of Heaven was the kind of thing he would have assumed was a wild tequila dream. Hearing that said Prince of Heaven thought his soul was not only worthy of Heaven but described it as shining, brilliant, exquisite... It was baffling.

More baffling still was the way Michael's face seemed to change upon the pronouncement, becoming troubled and then, abruptly, determined. The body of the Roman man who had once been Michael's vessel, which had been seated on the opposite side of the fire pit in something of a relaxed pose that Sam thought might have been translating body language from whatever Michael's true form was doing, now rose to his feet at the same time that the air (or what passed for air in Heaven) became thick and charged.

"Sam," Michael said, his rolling voice thrumming with a power that the Archangel had kept suppressed thus far. "Were Raphael to know of what we have spoken on here, he would already have taken steps to ensure you remembered none of our conversation, convinced as he is of the rightness of the current course of events."

"But... why?" Sam asked, flabbergasted both by the idea that the Archangel Raphael would just... erase his memories for knowing anything about Heaven or angel vessels.

"Because if events follow as they are presently laid out, you would be sent back to Earth and the beginning of the Apocalypse would be set into motion," came the staggering answer. Sam rocked back on the ledge of the fire pit, shocked, but Michael was not done with dropping bombshells on him. "Your brother is not handling your death by Jake Talley's hand well, as I predicted. Even now, my lieutenants who watch his movements believe it will not be long before he begins to look for a crossroad with intent to make a trade, much as your father once did for him, and Heaven will be unable to intervene."

"No... he can't!" Sam choked, reeling. "He's got a spot in Heaven reserved, you said so yourself, he can't just throw that away for nothing!"

"And nor would he," Michael answered. "Your life is most certainly not nothing, Samuel, not to him." Those entirely too handsome for Sam's good features shifted into a look of sadness as the Archangel added, "He would let the world burn for you."

"I see," Sam said woodenly. His gaze dropped to the banked coals in the center of the fire pit, staring at the dull red glow almost blankly as his mind conjured visions of the pits of Hell where, if Michael was to be believed, Dean was about to commend his soul just to get Sam back. "I guess... this is goodbye then."

"What do you mean?" Michael asked. The almost otherworldly voice sounded odd when loaded with so much confusion. It made Sam smile.

"If you're right, then Dean's about to sell his soul for me," he said. One shoulder lifted in a shrug. "I don't think I'm worth it, but it's not like I can grab Dean by the shoulders and shake some sense into him while I'm still dead, and once I'm back down there.... Well, if Dean's willing to damn his soul to Hell to save me, how can I do anything less to save him? He deserves to be in Heaven."

"So do you," Michael insisted, moving closer. One hand reached across the fire pit towards Sam, palm up. "And there is still a chance to save you both, if you are willing. If you will trust me to do it."

"What chance?" Sam asked, looking up. If souls could get whiplash, he surely would have several times over by now.

"There is a loophole, in that if Dean prayed to Heaven, then Heaven could answer his prayers," Michael told Sam, then rolled his eyes. "I have noticed that Dean is not the praying sort, which I believe is what Raphael is counting on. You, however, have prayed to my Father every night asking for Dean's protection, even in your dying moments. I intend, with your aid, to answer your prayers. Belatedly."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but that is really sneaky," Sam said, feeling a rush of admiration for the Archangel. Michael looked pleased, and Sam swallowed down his nerves and stood. "What do you need me to do?" he asked, echoing his earlier words.

"Give me your consent to use you as a vessel for forty-eight hours," Michael said. Sam gaped in shock, and Michael smiled a little. "You are also of my bloodline, Sam. It will do you no harm to host me for that amount of time, and it will allow me to lay the foundations needed to save not only you and your brother from Hell's machinations, but also all of humanity. Will you consent, Sam?"

"How can I say no to an offer like that?" Sam joked weakly, his shaky smile becoming a bit more firm when Michael smiled back. He reached back across the fire pit and grasped Michael's outstretched hand, feeling something wrapping around him like silk made of flames as their fingers tangled together. "Sure, let's go save the world. Yes."

Heaven shook with the rush of their departure.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SPN Rare Ships Creation Challenge Round 14: SaMichael, prompt "ghosts". Admittedly, I played a little fast and loose with the interpretation of "ghosts" in that Michael first appears to Sam as "the ghost of John Winchester". The title of the story is both a reference to Michael first meeting Sam face to face without the barrier of Sam's (demon blood tainted) skin, and also a reference to the Halloween themed song "The Ghost of John". XD
> 
> Michael's alternate vessel is represented by Greek actor Theo Theodoridis: https://i.pinimg.com/236x/21/33/b9/2133b94a7d367f48f5f63fda9cff3808.jpg


End file.
